


goodbye, goodbye

by Sneakyfox55



Series: Never Forget [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (again as far as everyone knows here), (as far as everyone knows here), Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, Marriage, Past Relationship(s), Widowed Sans, and the "acceptance" part is not what it's supposed to be, more or less, the fifth and fourth stages are basically combined
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneakyfox55/pseuds/Sneakyfox55
Summary: Once upon a time, Sans had to accept the fact you would never come back....It wasn't as easy as you'd think.
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Series: Never Forget [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879786
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	goodbye, goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> after drawing something semi-happy for once i needed my daily dose of angst sooo ;;
> 
> inspired very self-indulgently by these two songs:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyRXVSqXmeY  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1ebhLz13Ug

You were late again.

Sans hadn’t been too worried at first; there was no real reason to be, after all. For one, you could take care of yourself. Second of all, you’d promised to meet him here at _some_ point—at least, what he considered a promise from you, and you usually _never_ broke your promises. Even if you did have “something to take care of,” vague as that was, you would be back soon.

Really, if anything, Alphys called you back to the lab last minute, for something you for some reason couldn’t tell him about yet; either way, she was probably just keeping you held up a little longer this time, just like last week. He shouldn’t have been freaking out over nothing. (Definitely _not_ like last week, regardless of his excuse then. ~~(He still felt sorry enough for it.~~ ))

...Still. He couldn’t help but miss you, just a little, as he always did. The thought of you eventually coming home made his soul warm; and just imagining holding you again set his nonexistent heart aflutter.

Perhaps he was still just in the “honeymoon” phase, despite it going on two weeks now—either way, he didn’t much care.

Be it a phase or not, he couldn’t wait to see you again.

An hour passed.

Whatever the something you had to take care of was was taking up a lot of your time. He thought you’d at least text him some time in between leaving the restaurant and him coming home, but...

You hadn’t yet.

Similar feelings as to last time briefly returned to his soul—for just a moment, he was scared.

Still, he... Didn’t panic. He opted to calling you instead of texting, _just_ in case, and you didn’t pick up but—that was fine. It was fine, all was well.

No reason to freak out.

An hour and a half since he last saw you, and still nothing.

_Nothing._

Should he—should he call Alphys instead? Had your phone died, were you _okay_ —

No. No, Sans, it _wasn’t_ time to panic. You were okay.

...Another call wouldn’t hurt though, right??

Ten o’clock.

Sans was tired.

He was tired of waiting, and wishing and _worrying_ , you weren’t responding to any of his messages call or otherwise, you weren’t...

~~Oh gods, they really did do it this time didn’t they, _they took you away from him—_~~

He had to call Alphys, he had to do _something_ —

His phone rang.

Sans almost sagged onto the bed in relief, quickly swiping it from atop the sheets next to him and greeting all-too-enthusiastically, “(Y/N)?”

_“...N-no, um, this is... It’s me, Alphys?”_

The relief vanished.

_“I-I was just... Going to ask if you’ve seen (Y/N)? Sh-she wasn’t picking up her phone a-and—j-just n-now I—”_

“where is she?” the skeleton blurted, as though _she’d_ know, having just asked _him_.

Sure enough...

_“I-I don’t know, that’s w-why I’m a-a-asking you? ‘cause I... S-she wasn’t picking up before and I just called a m-minute ago but—it s-said her phone was out of service, o-or something?”_

...

_“W-what does that mean? She... She came home, right?”_

. . .

_“Sans?”_

“i’ll call you back.”

“W-wait—!”

He didn’t.

He hang up on her, fumbling with the end button for a moment. His chest felt tight. His grip had loosened, and his hands shook as yet again he tried contacting you.

_“We’re sorry but the number you are trying to reach is invalid. Please—”_

****

No.

No, no, no, _no_ , _NO_.

You couldn’t be, they _wouldn’t_ , they’d _changed_ —

**_What did they do?_ **

****

_WHAT_

_DID_

_FRISK_

_DO?_

* * *

Nobody reported you missing until the next day—mainly because Sans refused to tell anybody about it. Or talk to them at all, for that matter.

He was almost certain who had done it, however.

He "asked" them about as much when dawn came, his soul driven mad at the time—so mad, in fact, that he didn’t truly register what he was doing. Toriel _tried_ to lecture him when he let them go, but any and all attempts were pretty much rendered useless when Sans decided to collapse on the floor in a pile of trembles and sobs.

It’d taken almost an hour and a very concerned Papyrus for him to finally blurt out what was going on. Alphys wasn’t slow to call in too.

It was made clear rather quickly that Frisk had no part in this.

Everyone waited some time before officially reporting you missing to the police, but by that time Sans was sent home; Papyrus went with him.

He stayed through the night, there for Sans when he needed him most.

...But, for once, not even he could make Sans feel better.

* * *

Sans had stopped eating and sleeping.

He made the excuse he didn’t need to eat anyway, but even he knew that was a lie—he was a fragile monster, after all. Even the slightest bit of doubt could dwindle his HP into the decimals. The very least he could have done was _try_ to consume something that would heal him, but...

. . .

...Doing _anything_ was hard, after that.

He continued his efforts of sitting up all night, just waiting, desperately hoping you’d finally call. Or—or you’d walk in the door just a few minutes later, you forgot to call or text and you’d gotten lost or,

or you lost track of time, you were out in the city _somewhere_ doing _something_ all this time and you just—

Or you were planning something? Maybe you had a surprise for him, and you just—it was taking this long to finish it, somehow?? And you couldn’t tell him anything, or tell him you were okay because it was...

...Because...

. . .

You...

You had to come back.

_Right?_

* * *

He started dreaming about you.

They were awful dreams, made that much more so by how vivid his soul chose to make them. It was cruel, to imagine it: to imagine you coming back, and seeing everyone again, and taking him in your arms again, as though you had _always_ been there, you’d always _be_ there.

He couldn’t imagine a life without you—and that was made all the more clear within his dreams.

Nothing hurt him more.

_Nothing_ , not losing his father, not losing his brother—not going to bed every night, ridden with guilt and the terrifying chance of this all being taken away tomorrow.

Because he could have _told_ you about some of that before—not all of it, but some. That’d been enough. And maybe, some day, when he was doing better by you, he could tell you about _all_ of it. He could be okay, _finally_ , for _good_ , he _would_ be—

...But now...

Now, it was just him. Just _him_ against the world, literally in some ways.

And...

And he couldn’t take that.

He couldn’t take anything, he supposed.

. . .

And yet,

he continued.

Foolishly, probably.

* * *

The reasoning of your departure ~~always~~ never usually came to mind, amongst the torture of said departure itself, but...

Sometimes... He wondered if he had been doing things right.

~~He wondered it a lot.~~

You hadn’t been acting right, the week before it happened.

He wondered if maybe, he just had asked you... If he’d just been _there_ for you, for _once_ , then...

Maybe you would have stayed.

Maybe he was the reason you left.

...

The thought kept him awake at night, so he thought about it a lot.

Sometimes that pain was enough.

Other times, it wasn’t.

Other times his magic worked better.

* * *

After some time, Sans finally gave your things away to Toriel. Most of it was too painful to keep himself—among the things he did keep was your engagement ring, which you’d left back at the house the night you’d gone.

It wasn’t until later he had found it.

...

He stopped wondering a long time ago, though.

There was no point.

You were gone now, and no amount of wondering was going to bring you back to him, no matter how much he hoped, or wished on stars. Whether you left because of him or not didn’t matter.

He was selling the house and moving back in with Papyrus today. It hadn’t even been a month yet—in fact, it was only two weeks after you went missing.

(There had to be irony there somewhere.)

But, so much can happen even within that short of a time span.

One skeleton can only take so much, and...

Sans was tired.

He was so, so tired.

He couldn’t stay in this house anymore; he couldn’t imagine leaving it for something else, either. Not without you.

And while he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the money now—maybe give it to Toriel, or keep it for Papyrus—what comforted him was the fact he never had to think about using it again.

And he refused to go there, just for old times’ sake. Just for one last look.

...But he wanted to remember you, at least.

He would make himself remember, for a moment.

He just wanted to _stay_ here a moment, sitting on the floor in the forgotten bedroom, watching the sun move across the blank walls. It felt colder than usual, to remain in this place. He had wrapped himself in your favorite jacket; one of the only other things he’d kept.

...

It still smelled like you.

In a bittersweet way, he let it comfort him, as much as it could without you there yourself. It wasn’t nearly as warm as you, though it sufficed. It hid away his tears in its fabric, doing its best in bearing all of the weight of his sadness.

Sans sat there awhile. He saw the room being bathed in a golden light. It covered the barren, empty bed, the sun itself seeming to mourn you. The door to the hallway was cast in shadows.

He still imagined you coming through that door, even now.

You would walk in determinedly, alive, and _beautiful_ , shining like the brightest star he had never seen—a flame in the fading light.

See, Sans had never left the honeymoon phase.

In fact, it probably was not possible for him to.

He still missed you, with all of his being.

His soul still yearned for you, and always would.

He still wanted to hold you, and to dance with you until the end of time. He’d make sure he never strayed too far away, his body entwined with yours; to keep you close to him, and _never_ let go again.

He loved you, so, _so_ damn much. And...

To _forget_ that...

To even _consider_...

How _could_ he? Truly?

You were one of the few things that _meant_ something in this world, even if you were no longer a part of it.

He’d never, _ever_ let go of your memory, much less move on from you.

. . .

And.

Maybe you were happy. Wherever you were now.

Even if it was far away from him.

Even if you didn’t miss him, no matter how much he ached for you.

He’d have to live with himself, after this. He had nothing better to do; and he knew everyone would miss him.

~~He couldn’t do that to them. To Papyrus.~~

For now, he had no choice.

This was his goodbye to you. And he accepted it, as much as he could.

He accepted the fact this was his punishment, ultimately.

He messed up.

And he was fated to stay here, alone; to continue like this, for the rest of his life.

Without you.

. . .

He could never move on from you, but, maybe...

Maybe it would be easier, knowing you were in a better place.

...

It...

Might never be enough for _him_ , but...

Maybe,

one day. . .


End file.
